


at the heart of every rivalry, there's a dumb spaniard

by boom_slap



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Humor, Rivalry, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24407965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap
Summary: Tumblr prompt: Sergio and Martín fighting over Andrés' time.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Professor | Sergio Marquina, Palermo | Martín Berrote & Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 15
Kudos: 92





	at the heart of every rivalry, there's a dumb spaniard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [puduhegepa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/puduhegepa/gifts).



> This prompt was w o n d e r f u l

Martín does not hate Sergio. He loves the guy! It amuses him to no end, watching him struggle with his and Andrés’ chaotic energy, how it confuses and frustrates him to no end. He likes throwing him off his feet with a witty comment or two, or with a few elegant innuendos here and there. Sergio is very smart and very funny. Would Martín ever want to be his friend if it weren’t for Andrés? _Fuck_ no, they would tear each other to pieces over the dumbest things. Andrés is the middle ground between Martín and Sergio, allowing the three of them to somehow work together. 

That is, until the absolute _fucker_ tries to stand between Martín and Andrés. 

“Can we have lunch in the city today? I have some details to talk over with you,” Sergio says, nodding nervously at his brother. 

Andrés gives him a warm smile. 

“Of course,” he says. 

Martín just got ignored for all of eight seconds and he will not tolerate it. 

“Can we get anything other than pasta, though? I want a burger,” he whines from where he’s sprawled out on the chaise longue, buried under pages and pages of complicated calculations.

Andrés throws him a fond look over his shoulder. Score. The Championship in Desperate Attention Seeking goes, yet again, to Martín Berrote. He grins with ease.

“No, I mean-... I don’t need _you_ there,” Sergio says and there’s no ill intention in his voice, but Martín gasps. The offense! The audacity!

“It’s about the Mint,” he explains to Andrés and Martín throws his head back, groaning loud enough to drown out whatever the two of them are saying next. 

“The FUCKING _fotocópias_ , give me a BREAK,” he rolls his eyes. 

“That’s exactly what we’re giving you,” Andrés is smiling down at him. “Get some rest while we’re gone.”

With that, he puts his hand on Sergio’s back. Sergio dares to look pleased with his win. 

They walk out of the chapel and Martín is left fuming. 

He doesn’t hate Sergio, he only wants to rip out his arteries with his bare hands. 

A few days later, the two brothers are hunched over folders titled _Fábrica de la Moneda_ and Martín manages not to scowl at them as he waltzes into the chapel. 

“Aaandrés,” he pouts instead, taking a seat next to the man. Andrés smirks at him and Sergio rolls his eyes. 

“What is it?”

“I need your help. I don’t have anything to wear for your birthday dinner,” he rests his chin on his hand and smiles when Andrés touches his arm. God, he loves these little touches so much.

“Do you want to go shopping?”

“Yes. I already have the perfect gift for you,” he throws Sergio a look that says: _take that, asshole_. The man in question gapes, clearly offended. Martín looks back at Andrés. “But I need the perfect attire as well.”

Andrés laughs, deep in his chest, the sound making Martín melt against the table. 

“Sure, we can go.”

“Andrés,” Sergio clears his throat. His eyes must be burning with anger, eminent in his voice, but Martín forces himself not to look back at him, still smiling adoringly at Andrés who seems very pleased with it. “We’re in the middle of work. It’s going to take the whole day.”

“What kind of friend would I be,” Andrés replies smugly, already getting up, “if I refused fashion advice to that disastrous, lovely human over here?”

Before they leave, Martín makes sure to turn around and raise his eyebrows up at Sergio, who looks like he might be considering murder. 

_Ojo por ojo, estimado Sergio_ , he thinks. 

Next win goes to Sergio and he plays it so dirty Martín is actually impressed. 

As per usual, he barges in with his godforsaken Mint folders when Martín and Andrés are in the middle of work on their own plan - you know, the _better_ plan.

With a sigh, Martín makes some space on the table and Sergio opens one of the folders. He’s rummaging through the papers in search of a specific one when a photo falls out from in-between the documents. Andrés snatches it in a second and his eyes widen in delight. 

“Ahhh, Sergio! Look at that,” he grins and throws the picture back onto the table. It’s an old photo of the two of them; Sergio looks maybe 10, but he’s probably older, just scrawny; Andrés is around 17, his lips pursed and a deep frown on his face. Martín stares. 

“Sorry, it must’ve fallen there by accident,” Sergio explains somewhat awkwardly, as if he’s embarrassed, but when Martín looks up at him, he gives him a side glance that’s pure _evil_. 

Martín’s jaw drops. 

_That BASTARD._

Andrés gets up and wraps an arm around Sergio, beaming with pride as he looks down at Martín. 

“Look at him now, _mi amigo_ , he’s grown up so fast. My favourite little brother.”

“Yes,” Martín says through gritted teeth, “definitely not a kid anymore.”

Andrés is visibly amused as he looks between the two of them. 

Since Martín can remember, Andrés has praised Sergio’s ability to win at any game of chess.

During the birthday dinner in the courtyard, as Sergio keeps talking to Andrés, Martín realizes that in reality, the bastard doesn’t know _shit_ about chess.

If he did, he would have known than in order to get to the king, you have to take on the queen first.

Sergio keeps sending him triumphant glances, but Martín ignores him, chatting with Tatiana and pouring her wine whenever her glass is empty. He can hear Sergio making speeches about some ideological nonsense and he waits a moment before finally telling Tatiana some funny story with a very well-crafted punchline. 

The soon-to-be bride laughs wholeheartedly, leaning against her fiancé, grabbing his arm. Andrés’ attention immediately shifts to the pair of them. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks, smiling already. 

“Martín, of course!” she grins, nudging Martín under the table. He really likes that woman. “Tell that again, come on.”

He does, making Andrés laugh as well. Then:

“Ah, I remember you’ve done the same thing in Rome!” Andrés grins and Tatiana perks up. 

“Share the details!”

“With pleasure,” Martín stretches out in his chair. He starts to talk and looks over at Sergio, who’s suddenly out of the conversation, lost and confused.

_Checkmate, asshole._

The weird rivalry goes on and on for days. Martín suspects that Andrés is very well aware of it; he keeps smirking, clearly enjoying the two of them wrestling for his attention. 

Martín considers himself in the lead and he feels that it’s been confirmed when Andrés offers to have dinner in an elegant restaurant in Florence with him. He has some business to attend to in Florence anyway (a handsome married guy by the name of Fernando, to be exact), so he happily agrees to be there at 9.

When he walks into the restaurant at 9.20, hair still moist from the shower, Andrés isn’t there. 

Sitting alone at the table is Sergio. 

Martín approaches him, already angry. 

“What,” he spits, “are _you_ doing in here?”

Sergio looks up at him, frowning, all innocent and confused. Martín suppresses the urge to groan out loud. 

“I’m meeting with my brother, what are _you_ doing?” he says, irritation creeping into his voice. 

“ _I’m_ meeting with Andrés, you fucking-... oh.” Martín shuts his mouth when it hits him. He flops onto the chair across from Sergio, who lets out a long and heavy sigh. 

“Neither of us is meeting with him, are we,” Martín says, reaching for the wine already on the table. 

“I hate him,” Sergio says simply. 

“I hate him more.”

There’s a silence after that, both of them staring out of the window, defeated. 

“I’m sure I am the one who hates him more,” Sergio mutters and there’s something different in his tone. Martín turns to look at him and sees an amused smirk, not unlike Andrés’. 

His own mouth stretches out in a wide grin. 

“No,” he drawls, “I do.”

“No,” Sergio retorts, “that’s definitely me.”

Martín laughs; he can’t help it. 

“Since we’re here, what do you want to eat?” he asks and Sergio raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Martín reaches into his pocket and pulls out Andrés’ golden credit card. 

Now Sergio is grinning as well. 

“I take it with me every time we’re supposed to go out,” Martín explains, shrugging nonchalantly. “Since he always forgets.”

Sergio reaches for his glass. 

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

They spend three hours talking shit about Andrés. 


End file.
